


The Helper

by yeehaw_darling



Category: EOS 10 (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Ryan has anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, again the baguette, also this is my first thing so please be nice, david calls him love, david is adorable, david takes care of ryan, dr urvidian and jane arent really in this just briefly mentioned, i have a baguette and im not afraid to use it, ryan helps people and this is his whole personality, ryan is his love, you can fight me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28753401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeehaw_darling/pseuds/yeehaw_darling
Summary: Ryan has a panic attack in the middle of the night and David is there to help.
Relationships: Ryan Dalias/David Maddox
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	The Helper

**Author's Note:**

> Half of this is just Ryan having a panic attack sorry about that.
> 
> This does mention suicidal thoughts/ideation so if you're not in the right space right now for that please please please don't read it.

Ryan helps people. 

He does so every day. 

With his patients, he becomes the very image of reassurance: steady hands guiding patients back to their beds, attentive mind listening to them, understanding them, considering every small detail that they told him so that he can piece the clues together, until finally, he finds a solution, a remedy, and succeeds in his task of helping people. 

With the people he cares about, the manner of his help changes. He becomes a shoulder to cry on, a responsible voice, a hand forever stretched out toward his friends, his chosen family, because he will never, ever stop being there for them. 

Every day. 

Every day, becoming the help that other people need. 

Whether it’s simple enough, like convincing the Chief of Security that Jane won’t go on a killing spree if left unsupervised, or a little harder, such as making sure Dr Urvidian keeps the recovering in recovering alcoholic, Ryan is there. To help. Always to help. 

Every day. 

Only- 

Only now. 

Only in those late evening to early morning hours, when the whole station is dark and the people that need help are asleep, Ryan can lie in bed with Morpheus on top of the blankets. Only then he can stop helping people, stop being on the constant lookout for something going wrong and breathe. 

Breathing, as it tuns out, is slightly difficult to do in the midst of a panic attack. 

He can’t do it. 

He can’t breathe. 

His whole body shakes as he struggles to throw the blankets off, they’re too heavy, they make it too hard for him to breathe. He sees his hands tremble as he tries to shove the blanket off the bed, but he can’t really feel them. He can’t feel anything, only the fear, as feels the darker corners of his mind closing in on him, and everything is going wrong, only he can’t- 

The blanket is finally off, and finally, finally, Ryan’s chest feels free to move, and he can inhale. 

Only he can’t. 

He gasps for breath, jackknifing up in the bed. The air enters his lungs, but it burns, he didn’t know that air could burn so much, and the air is gone far too quickly, so the whole thing repeats over, and over, and over, because he can’t breathe. 

Between his frantic breaths, Ryan starts crying. Not the desperate, frustrated type, rather the opposite. He can feel the tears as they leak out of the corners of his eyes, he can feel them slowly make their way haphazardly down his face, as they reach his chin, his lips, even his ears, but he doesn’t make a move to wipe them away. 

He doesn’t think he could, even if he wanted to. 

He’s resigned himself to this: barely able to breathe, scared of and scared for everything in equal measures, tears flooding his face and sobs only making his chest feel tighter as the pain wraps around his heart and squeezes, uncaring of Ryan’s feelings of the matter. 

He isn’t sure how much time passes. He’s entirely focused on breathing – enough mandated therapy sessions have taught him that much – and slowly, it becomes easier to inhale, then exhale, and inhale again. Minutes may have passed, and Ryan would be none the wiser. That knowledge – that Ryan has let time just slip by, time in which things could have gone wrong, so horribly wrong – makes the feeling in his chest tighten again. 

It’s going to end, eventually. 

It has to. 

Ryan is, after all, a doctor. He knows that it’s going to end one way or another. 

Looking down, he sees that the spot where Morpheus usually is at the foot of bed is vacant. He can hardly blame the cat – Ryan’s struggle with the blankets probably shook a sleeping Morpheus onto the floor. 

The tightness in his chest eases just a little. 

At least no-one, not even the cat, has witnessed Ryan’s humiliation. 

It’s a small thing to be thankful for, but it relieves Ryan to the point where his shuddering breaths slow until they’re almost, almost normal again. 

For a second, it seems as though it might be over. 

Ryan has always been foolishly optimistic. 

The wave of nausea rushes over him as soon as things look like they might get better. He half-bursts, half-rolls out of the bed. Moments ago, he could barely move, but now he’s dragging himself over to his bathroom. His legs buckle and he trips, but at least he hasn’t lost consciousness. His dignity has completely abandoned him when he manages the final three meters by crawling, but hey, at least the cold tiles of the bathroom floor feel slightly safer for him to throw up on than Ryan’s carpeted bedroom floor. 

The lid of the toilet feels so heavy, and Ryan still hasn’t regained all the feeling is his limbs, but he somehow manages to open the toilet and pull himself up enough so that when he throws up, he mercifully spares the bathroom floor. 

There’s something to be said for experience. Ryan thinks it’s just a string of curses, but it does at least usually make the clean-up process a little easier. 

Strong hands pull his hair back. Ryan’s a little too preoccupied with hurling the contents of his stomach up into the toilet bowl to be able to look behind him and see who it is, but he faintly registers the feeling of someone gently tracing circles onto the back of his damp shirt. 

“Easy there, love,” a voice murmurs softly, and Ryan’s brain is just coherent enough to recognise it after two seconds. 

The tears never really stopped, but now they’re back in full force as Ryan lurches over the toilet bowl again, and he notices how the owner of the voice is quick enough to ease their grip on Ryan’s hair to avoid further injury. 

It makes everything so much better and so much worse all at once. 

“David,” Ryan manages to choke out between sobs. 

The hands have taken up their circles on Ryan’s back as the doctor shakes against the toilet. 

“Hey there, love,” David replies, his words conversational as ever but his tone so focused that it makes Ryan’s heart ache even more. 

~*~ 

David falls back into his instincts as the Chief of Security when he opens the door to Ryan’s apartment and finds his love dragging himself across the floor to the bathroom. He takes in Ryan’s damp shirt, the tears streaming down Ryan’s face, the way that Ryan looks far too exhausted and dishevelled for this – whatever this is – to have started recently. 

Ryan doesn’t seem to hear him as he crosses the room, his gaze tracing the bedroom for clues as to what might have caused this. David barely reaches his love in time for him to pull the hair out of Ryan’s face. 

“David.” 

The doctor, to put it frankly, looks awful. Even without the tears, the shaking, the vomiting, David would still be able to tell that something is wrong. 

“Hey there, love.” 

There’s a certain tiredness with which Ryan moves. He seems to know exactly what the procedure is here – even if he hates it, even if it’s horrible and painful – and the way that Ryan won’t even wipe away his own tears terrifies David. 

So David does it for him, crouching before his love as Ryan leans back against the bathroom wall once his stomach appears to be empty. 

The doctor is struggling to regain his breath, his lips moving to form words that he simply doesn’t have the energy to bring to life. 

“It’s alright,” David says as gently as he can, reaching up to grab a towelette and patting carefully against Ryan’s forehead. 

“David,” Ryan gasps, the oxygen still not quite filling his lungs, “you- you don’t- you shouldn’t-” 

He’s cut off when he lurches towards the toilet again. David automatically reaches forward to hold Ryan’s hair back again. The doctor is wracked with a bout of retching and sobbing – a combination that David wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy – and finally slouches against the bathroom wall again. 

When David is certain that Ryan’s hair can be left unattended, he stands up, runs the towelette under cold water, and crouches back down to dab it at Ryan’s neck. 

David is a soldier, not a doctor, and so he has no idea whether this will help. But Ryan’s breathing seems to slow ever so slightly, even if his chest still hitches in sobs, and the doctor doesn’t reach for the toilet again. 

“Ryan, love,” David murmurs, focused on his task. “Feeling any better?” 

This only makes his love cry even harder. David abandons the towelette and wipes the tears away with his thumb. 

“I-” Ryan starts, only the tears cut him off. He presses his lips together to stop any further sobs from escaping and ducks his head down. 

“Ryan, love,” David repeats, his voice still soft as he lifts Ryan’s head to face him. “I promise you that you’re going to be alright.” 

The doctor shakes his head. “That’s not- that’s not it. I-” 

And again, the tears. 

Those damned tears. 

They just won’t leave his love alone. 

“I’m here now,” David tries, but judging by Ryan’s pained expression, it seems to be the wrong thing to say. 

If David could, he would ask Ryan to tell him what hurt him and fight it. 

“Ryan, love,” David says, “can you tell me what happened?” 

“Just felt a little sick,” is the doctor’s automatic response. 

~*~ 

Ryan, with his mind still full of panic and dread and bad things, completely falling apart in his bathroom. 

Ryan, the figure of reassurance to everyone but himself. 

Ryan, now causing David to worry. 

“Ryan, love,” David says, and it hurts Ryan because David’s voice is so gentle and such a thing shouldn’t be possible, especially when it’s wasted on Ryan. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” David asks. 

The answer is automatic. By now, such answers have become habit, and Ryan feels his lips move to form the words, feels his chest suddenly decide to give all his remaining air to this one sentence. 

“Just felt a little sick.” 

The words hang between them. David leans back to grab another towelette, and Ryan is certain that the words will create a wall between them, preventing David from every coming back. 

It’s foolish, he knows. But what is he if not a fool? 

Ryan closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see David slowly become aware of all the things that are wrong with Ryan and leave. If he doesn’t see it, maybe it will hurt less. 

Maybe. 

Only- 

Only now Ryan feels David carefully reach around Ryan’s waist and pull his shirt up, helping Ryan lift his arms, and easing it gently over his head. 

Only now, Ryan, eyes still closed, still not quite able to breathe at a steady pace, still unable to control his stupid tear ducts, is fully aware that David has not left yet. 

The towelette is back, this time methodically making its way across Ryan’s chest, under his arms, behind his neck. Ryan feels David pulling him forward ever so slightly, and Ryan obliges, leaning into David’s chest as David works the towelette across Ryan’s back. 

His head is buried into David’s shoulder, and so it’s easy to pretend to not notice as David checks Ryan’s body for any injuries. 

He can feel David’s heart beating. It’s not as fast as Ryan’s, and it’s surprisingly steady. It’s comforting. Reassuring. 

Ryan knows that he should be the reassuring one. 

He tries to stop the tears, he really does, but small patches of David’s t-shirt become soaked before long. 

The towelette stops moving, and the fabric lifts from Ryan’s skin. David reaches around Ryan, almost encircling the doctor completely, and holds him like that, with Ryan’s head tucked into the nape of David’s neck, and David trying to hold them both together. 

“Ryan, love,” David says, ever so softly. 

Ryan stills, almost instinctively, in David’s arms. 

“I’m going to bring you back to bed, if that’s alright.” 

Ryan nods. 

Strong arms wrap tighter around Ryan – the doctor is surprised that instead of feeling claustrophobic, he finds it reassuring – and suddenly he’s not on the floor, but rather carefully being hoisted into David’s arms. 

Ryan keeps his head buried in David’s chest as David carries him back to the bedroom. It’s easier not to look, because then he doesn’t have to see how David scans the room for clues, for anything that could help him understand. 

Ryan is all too aware of how wrong this all is. 

He is the doctor. 

He is the one that helps people. 

He should have figured out how to piece himself back together by now. 

David gently deposits Ryan on his side of the bed and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

Ryan can hear David’s footsteps, a drawer being opened, clothes being ruffled. Then he feels David’s fingers gently pulling Ryan up so that David can help him put a fresh shirt on, and again, he realises how wrong it all is. 

“Ryan, love?” 

Ryan nods. Words are overrated, and besides, he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack. 

“Would it be alright if I stayed?” 

Another nod. 

And still, even if David hasn’t left, everything is still so wrong. 

~*~ 

David doesn’t sleep. 

He thinks that he’s forgotten how to. 

And besides, his love still hasn’t stopped crying. Ryan tries to hide it, but every few minutes, he makes a small whimper or sniffs, and David becomes certain that something is wrong, and he has to find it so that Ryan will be okay again. 

They both lie in the bed, Ryan curled up into David, still hiding his face so that David won’t see the tears. David kisses his forehead, tucks a strand of hair behind his love’s ears, and pulls him tighter so that his love won’t get cold. 

Ryan had refused to be covered by a blanket. 

David would just have to hold him closer. 

He can piece the clues together, but barely: 

A doctor who is upset when other people offer him help. 

Ryan, who’s been hurt so many times but that knowledge only hurts him more. 

His love, who doesn’t want David to see him like this. 

“Ryan, my love?” David asks into the near-silence. He feels Ryan nod – the doctor has barely said a word since David arrived. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” 

The doctor’s reply is automatic. “Just felt a little sick.” 

“Any particular reason why?” David presses, but his voice is so soft, so gentle, so loving, that there could be no possible way for the words to sound like an intrusion. It simply wouldn’t be logical. 

Ryan, as it turns out, is not in a very logical state. 

The almost-silence turns into complete silence as Ryan gradually stills in David’s arms, choking off the sobs before they can escape him with a renewed determination. 

Minutes pass. Ryan, in David’s arms, has become a statue. David can’t feel the tears leak onto his own shirt anymore, can’t feel Ryan shake anymore. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. 

Both seems like a good compromise. 

“You can tell me, you know.” 

Ryan doesn’t answer, but the tears aren’t back, which David takes as a good sign. 

“Whatever happened, I’m not going to judge you.” 

Still nothing. 

“I can help.” 

Ryan scoffs. 

He just laughs at David. 

As if offering to help is the most absurd thing in the universe. 

“Ryan, love,” David smiles, “you do realise that I own several guns, right? I can help.” 

And then- 

And then David doesn’t want to believe what Ryan says. 

To hear such a thing is an awakening. Not the happy type, where lives change for the better and people feel like they’ve learned from the experience and all that bullcrap. It’s the paranoid type, the type where now everything one sees and hears could have hidden meanings and people could die goddamnit if one doesn’t interpret them in time. 

“Unless you’re willing to lend me a gun and leave me alone for a few minutes, I don’t think you can.” 

His love says the words quietly, quickly. They seem to be an automatic reply, a thought so structured that Ryan has surely said this before. David can barely hear the words – they seem to be more of a reassurance to Ryan that there’s an exit strategy in place. 

“Ryan, love,” David says simply, hoping that the two simple words are enough to make everything alright. 

~*~ 

“Unless you’re willing to lend me a gun and leave me alone for a few minutes, I don’t think you can.” 

Has David heard? 

Has David heard, but would have preferred not to? 

Ryan regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips. It’s an automatic reaction – Ryan knows he should be able to control such things by now. God knows that he’s had the practice. There aren’t any excuses. 

“Ryan, love.” 

And maybe, maybe, it would be easier to follow through on the things Ryan wants to do. Then he’d have no more problems, no more potential things that could go wrong, no reason to be on the constant lookout, and everything wouldn’t be so wrong- 

Why must everything hurt so much? 

There’s a certain peacefulness is Ryan’s exist strategy. He knows that it might never happen, that he’s probably just being dramatic and ungrateful for the life he has. And if it were to happen, Ryan would be creating more problems than he would be solving, and such a thing simply wouldn’t be fair on the people he loves. 

Ryan is there to help. 

It’s just that the alternative, an eternal emptiness filled with silence, seems so tempting. 

~*~

"Love?"

Ryan looks up. His soft pink eyes seem to have lost some of their colour - probably a result from crying so much.

"Tell me how to help."

And Ryan starts talking, first Jane and Levi and a lot of illegal things that David should probably not know about, then about Akmazian and the anxiety-inducing disaster that is alternate realities, and finally the drugs, the tiredness, and Ryan's planned escape routes.

David holds his love tighter.

He's here to help.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are appreciated :)


End file.
